


ready to dive in (melt the ice and just swim)

by thegraystreaks



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: College AU, F/M, Yearning, hands....just. hands, idiots to lovers, mentions of drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27586457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraystreaks/pseuds/thegraystreaks
Summary: Prompt: 💖 Percy trying to teach Annabeth how to play pool with all the cliches that come with it except that he’s mediocre at best and she pretends to suck at it just so he can do the ✨here like This✨ thing 💖💖💖“One more game? Anyone?” Percy calls over to them as he begins to re-rack the balls.“Nah, I’m gonna get another round,” Grover shouts back. The rest of the boys wave him off, and Percy walks over.“How about you, Annabeth? Wanna play a game of pool? One-on-one?”Her eyes narrow for a moment, and she makes a snap decision. She smiles innocently. “Sure! You’ll have to teach me, though.”“I think I can manage that.”“Lead the way, then.”
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 160





	ready to dive in (melt the ice and just swim)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for the prompt annie!!🥺🥺🥺
> 
> title from "Waiting for You" by The Aces.

"You’re staring,” Hazel whispers.

Annabeth sighs, not even bothering to deny it. “Yeah, well. No harm in looking, right? Sorry, what were we talking about?”

Hazel and Piper begin their discussion once again about where to stop for food at bar close, but Annabeth can’t seem to focus. Neon lights cast a faint glow over the otherwise dimly lit space—they’re at Whiskey Nick’s, one of the many bars that sit just past the edge of campus. Annabeth stands at a high-top with her usual group—roommates and classmates alike that have come together over the years to form a sort of motley crew. Hazel sits to her left, chatting with Piper and Reyna, but Annabeth turns again to watch the game taking place just to her right. The bar had just gotten the new pool table in, and of course the boys _had_ to be the first to break it in.

Watching them play reminds her of home, although this dingy college bar couldn’t be more different from the finished basement back in San Francisco. She remembers quiet evenings and slow weekends when she’d learned to play pool with her dad. It had been the only activity they really bonded over, a perfect mix of skill and strategy. Sure, he couldn’t be bothered to catch her soccer games or debates, but a pool game after dinner could keep him out of his study for an hour or so, at least.

She looks around the bar that has become her favorite weekend hangout, contemplating the chairs that always wobble and the one dart board that never fails to eat her cash. Her friends, who always fill the chairs around her, and Rachel, the bartender who knows her by order but not by name. This bar feels more like home than that house ever had, anyway. More lived in. Better memories.

She turns back to the game to see Percy grinning as he claps Frank on the back. He steps up to the table, chalking up his cue.  He’s alright at pool, she supposes, though it seems like he gets by more on luck than strategy or calculation. His skill isn’t really why she’s watching, of course. She bites the end of her straw as Percy leans over the table, his sleeves tight around his biceps. 

He takes aim and shoots. The 8-ball sinks into the back left pocket, and the game is over. Percy and Grover shout in victory, celebrating as the rest of the boys all hang their cues back on the rack and make their way over to the high-top.

“One more game? Anyone?” Percy calls over to them as he begins to re-rack the balls.

“Nah, I’m gonna get another round,” Grover shouts back. The rest of the boys wave him off, and Percy walks over.

“How about you, Annabeth? Wanna play a game of pool? One-on-one?”

Her eyes narrow for a moment, and she makes a snap decision. She smiles innocently. “Sure! You’ll have to teach me, though.”

“I think I can manage that.”

“Lead the way, then.”

  
  


The pair make their way over to the pool table, pushing past bodies and carefully sidestepping a drink that had been spilled moments ago, lime wedge and all. When they make it to the cue rack, Annabeth turns to Percy, wide-eyed. “Which stick should I use?” 

He laughs and takes two off the rack, handing the slightly smaller one to her. “They’re called cues, not sticks.”

“My bad,” she giggles.

He talks her through the basics of the game as he places the balls in the rack, his hands moving deftly across the green felt. The table even smells new, she notices. No beer had been spilt on it yet, no balls had been chipped. Even the chalk had only been used for one game.

“So, the first shot is called the break, and it’s where you scatter all the balls,” Percy explains. “I’ll take that one, if you’re okay with it. So I can, like….demonstrate how to hit the ball with the cue.”

“Makes sense.”

“So, you hold your cue in your right hand…” he pauses, leaning over the table and placing his other hand down on the felt, “...and guide it with your left. Between your thumb and your index finger.” He lines up his shot, closing one eye, and Annabeth tries very hard to keep her eyes on his face while he’s bent at the hips like that. “You want your line of vision to be as close to level with the ball as you can make it.” His tongue pokes out in concentration as he pushes the cue forward once, twice, and then finally makes the break, sending the balls spinning in all directions.

“Nice shot.”

“Thanks,” he grins. “Alright, you’re up. You can go for any ball, and the first one you make will determine whether you play solids or stripes.”

Annabeth surveys the table, calculating angles. “Which one do you think I should go for?”

“Hmm….looks like you’re in a good position to pot the 6-ball in the right corner.”

The 6-ball would be an easy enough shot, she supposes, but as a whole, the stripes are better positioned. She decides to let him have the stripes anyway, circling around to line up her shot. If she plays her cards right, she won’t be winning either way. Well. She won’t be winning pool, at least.

She places her palm flat on the table and curls her fingers just a bit too much, so that the cue fits somewhat clunkily between them.

“No, no, you’ve got to make the bridge with your finger and thumb, like—” his hand reaches hesitantly toward hers, then stops. “Do you mind if I...” he trails off, gesturing toward her hand.

“Go ahead,” she manages as calmly as she can.

He takes a step in, and suddenly he’s just behind her left shoulder, close enough that she can smell his aftershave. Her heart rate quickens as the feeling of his presence rocks through her, and on the table, she watches the space between their arms close as his fingertips come to brush along the side of her hand. 

“Just the heel of your palm should be touching the felt. Keep the rest of it lifted, just slightly.” She does as he says, suppressing a shudder. “And your fingers,” he adds, moving so that his hand rests over hers. “Lay them a bit flatter. You should be able to use the V between your thumb and index finger to aim the cue at your target.”

Annabeth is lucky she actually knows what she’s doing and can fix her hand positioning herself, because she’s struggling to concentrate on what he’s saying with his voice this close to her ear.

“...and once you’ve lined up your shot, you just...guide the cue through your fingers. Hit the ball right below its center. Don’t be afraid to put some power behind it.” His hand glides up, coming to rest on the underside of her bare forearm. Through the haze clouding her brain, she wonders if he’s noticed the goosebumps that cover her skin.

Her left hand may be lined up perfectly thanks to him, but she intentionally places her right hand too far back on the cue. It’s an awkward angle, one that allows her less control. She moves to hit the ball and completely misses it. “Shoot,” she sighs, feigning disappointment. “What am I doing wrong?”

“You’ve got to move your back hand closer in. Here, like this.”

He slowly brings his other hand around and places it on hers, and now his whole body is wrapped around her, his chest pressed to her back, and her head is spinning. A nervous thrill shoots up her spine.

“Sorry, is this—”

She looks over her shoulder at him, letting her hair fall across her eye. “I don’t mind.” Tension rises in her chest, but she pushes past it to get the words out. “You’re the expert, after all.”

“Um. Okay.” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Gently, he leads her back hand up the cue so that her elbow is tucked near her side. “And then, you just—” He stops abruptly and clears his throat. Suddenly, his hands are gone from hers, and he’s stepping away from her, out of her space. “Then you, um. Bend over. So that….so your line of vision is level with the ball.”

The sudden distance between them is like a bucket of ice water thrown in her face, a shock to her system. She takes a deep breath to settle herself, then leans over to take the shot. Predictably, it sinks into the pocket.

“See, you’ve already got the hang of it,” Percy smiles.

“Well, I had a great teacher.”

The game continues, the air charged around them as they play. She finds herself staring a bit too often at the way his hair falls in his face while he shoots, the lines of his throat when he laughs at her dumb jokes, the muscles in his forearms shifting as he grips the cue. She can’t help but notice, though, that his glances seem to linger, too. She’ll milk it for all she’s worth, she decides, batting her eyes while asking for advice on what her next move should be and intentionally sticking her elbow too far out so that he has to come and correct it.

Before she knows it, Percy is pocketing the 8-ball and the game is over. He walks around the table to shake her hand. “That was really good for your first game.”

“Thanks for showing me the ropes,” she replies, trying not to think too hard about the warmth of his hand in hers. “I’m sure I’ll be beating you in no time.”

He laughs. “You want to play another round? Try your luck?” 

“Practice makes perfect.”

“I’ll get us some more drinks if you rerack.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He grins and turns away. “The 8-ball goes in the middle of the fourth row,” he calls over his shoulder as he walks off.

 _Third row_ , she corrects in her head, gathering the balls to set the game up once more. 

“You guys looked awfully comfortable there.”

Annabeth startles, turning to find Piper just behind her. “I’d like to get even more comfortable,” she smirks, pulling out the triangle rack.

“So you’re finally gonna make your move tonight then?”

“What do you think it is that I’m doing?”

Annabeth knocks the balls on the table so that they roll off in different directions and picks up her cue. Quickly, she lines up to the cue ball and shoots, rebounding it off the edge and sinking the 1-ball with a fancy trick shot.

“You sneak!” Piper laughs, shoving Annabeth in the shoulder until they’re both giggling.

“What the—Annabeth?”

She whips up to find Percy standing a few feet away, mouth agape and face twisted in confusion. “Hey,” she chokes.

“I, um. Forgot my wallet.” He gestures numbly at the edge of the pool table, where, sure enough, his wallet sits. “So...you _do_ know how to play?”

Annabeth feels a flush spread across her cheeks—the gig’s up. There’s no way he doesn’t know by now, doesn’t get exactly what she would do to be near him, to have an excuse to touch him. She bites her lip and sets down the cue. “Uh. My dad taught me when I was young.”

He steps over and picks up his wallet. She tries to read his face, looking for any sign of mutual interest, or worse, pity. Instead, she sees something that looks a lot like hurt. “I’m gonna, um—” he gestures behind him and turns away, walking off to the bar again. 

She freezes. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Clearly he wasn’t actually into her. She’s misread the signs and made an absolute fool of herself—she thinks back to the giggling and teasing and batting her eyes and wishes she could disappear. God, she’s ruined the friendship they had, she’s made things awkward between them. The twisting in her chest kind of makes her want to cry. 

Still, she runs after him.

“Percy, wait!” She catches up to him right as he’s nearing the bar. He turns to face her, his expression guarded. “I—I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” His face remains unreadable. “Are you mad?” she asks, eyes downcast.

“I just—I thought we were friends.”

The rejection of _friends_ stings a bit, but she ignores it. “We _are_ friends.”

“So what, you make fun of all your _friends_ behind their back?” Annabeth blinks in surprise. “Friends don’t do that. You played dumb and — and _flirted_ with me so you could get me all...flustered, and what? Get my hopes up? So that you could go off and laugh with your _real_ friends about my stupid, obvious crush on you?”

“I—you have a crush on me?”

“It’s _mean_ , it’s mean of you to do that. To make fun of me for that.” His face has hardened into strong lines, but his voice is raw. His eyes, too, expose him, the hurt in them shining through. 

“You think I’m...making fun of you?” 

Percy just stares at her.

“Oh my _god_ , Percy, I’ve been hinting to you that I like you for, like...so long. And when I finally throw myself at you, you think I’m _making fun of you_?”

“Throw yourself at— _you_ like _me_?”

“Yes, _I_ like you!” she laughs. “I’ve made it so obvious! I’ve just been so confused, and I couldn’t tell if you were trying to let me down gently or if you were just _completely_ oblivious, because I thought you maybe liked me too but you never _said_ anything, and I—”

“Annabeth,” he says, stepping into her space.

She stops mid-rant. “So...you _do_ like me then?”

His hand comes up to the side of her neck, and the air leaves her lungs as he closes the distance between them, kissing her like he had been waiting to do it for ages. Maybe he had been.

When he pulls away, she follows, kissing him once, twice more before leaning back. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

  
  


Later that night, as Percy and Annabeth sit at the bar, shoulders pressed together and hands intertwined, he turns to her. “Hey, since you actually do know how to play...how about a real game of pool? No pretending this time.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’d like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I would _destroy_ you, Jackson.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Your funeral. Rack ‘em up.”

  
  



End file.
